As You Wish: HA Parody of the Princess Bride
by Lucretia Boresya
Summary: I DONT OWN the PRINCESS BRIDE!!!! anyhoo, this is parody of it, HA-y and i tried to make it a lil different. Please dont kill me. Thankees.


******Hehe, I dunno where I come up with these things. Today it's a parody! Gasp! I haven't written one of those yet! I hope it's good. Lool.******  
  
******Those of you who have seen the movie but haven't read the book, you may not exactly know what I'm talkin about. But you should read the book! ITS DA BEST BOOK EVER!!!!******  
  
*******Disclaimer: Ever have one of those days where- what? Ya, me neither. Funny story really. I wrote this book, but some crazy guy came along and stole it, so I don't own it. Darn. Same thing happened with Hey Arnold! Darn you Craig!!! Lool. Ok. I'm done now. Really. I am. I think. ******  
  
  
  
As You Wish : A HA! Parody of The Princess Bride  
  
By Tano  
  
  
  
When Helga was born the most beautiful woman in the world was a French scullery maid named Annette. Ten years after Annette fell prey to the chocolate (as so many women do), the most beautiful woman was a girl in India named Aluthra. Alas, although she survived the pox plague in Bengal, her perfect beautiful skin did not. Then came Adela Terrell, a twenty year old. She was so perfect and young that all were sure she would remain the most beautiful for many years to come. Sad to say, Adela worried so much about becoming old, and the wrinkles appeared before the year was over.  
  
Helga, at 15, knew none of this. And even if she had it wouldn't have made any sense to her. How could anyone care if she were the most beautiful woman in the world or not. What difference could it have made if you were only third. Or the sixth. (Helga was nowhere near that high, being barely in the top fifty, and it certainly didn't help the way she took care of herself. She hated to wash her face, loathed the area behind her ears and avoided combing her hair as much as possible.) What Helga liked to do most was taunt the "Footballhead".  
  
The "Footballhead" did what she told him to. He had been an orphaned when his parents went off somewhere and never returned and he had come to work for Helga's father. He had an oddly shaped head, shaped much like a football (this was after footballs) or a taco (this was before tacos, or she probably would have called him that). Anyway, Helga loved to taunt him and tell him what to do as often as possible. "Footballhead, fetch me this." "Get me this, Footballhead- quickly or I'll pound you."  
  
"As you wish."  
  
That was all he ever answered. "As you wish." "Fetch that, Footballhead." "As you wish." "Dry this, Footballhead." "As you wish." He lived out in a tool shed near the animals, and read when he had candles.  
  
"I'll leave the boy an acre in my will." Big Bob, Helga's father would say. (They had acres then.)  
  
"Uhuh." Miriam, Helga's mother would mutter before falling asleep again.  
  
Having no one else to talk to, Bob would turn on his daughter.  
  
"You didn't bathe." he said.  
  
"I did, I did." from Helga.  
  
"Not with water," Bob continued, "You reek."  
  
"You must bathe, Helga." Miriam would say when she woke up again, "The boys don't like their girls to smell."  
  
"Oh the boys!" Helga would explode, "I don't care about the boys!"  
  
She said that speech loud and she said it often.  
  
Something odd happened.  
  
Shortly before Helga's sixteenth birthday, she realized that she hadn't spoken to another girl in more than a month. She had never been too close to girls, but at least they would nod to her when they saw her. Now there was nothing. A quick glance as she approached, that was all. She cornered Nadine one day and asked about the silence.  
  
"I should think, after what you've done, you'd have the courtesy not to pretend to ask." came from Nadine.  
  
"What did I do?"  
  
"What? WHAT? You've stolen them." with that Nadine left, but Helga understood. She knew who "them" was.  
  
The boys.  
  
The geek-bait beef-witted rattleskulled knuckleheaded dim-domed noodle-noggined sap headed BOYS.  
  
How could anyone accuse her of STEALING them? Why would anybody WANT them anyway? All they ever did was get in the way. They followed her around, "Helga, may I help you with this?" "Helga, may I help you with that?" "Thank you, but that's the Footballhead's job." she would say and move on. They soon found her to be conceited. "Helga, you think you're too good for anybody don't you?" "Not really, just too good for you." Ok, maybe she sounded a bit conceited, but it was true.  
  
After realizing they had no chance with her they began to tease and laugh at Helga. She ignored them, but whenever they did get too annoying, the "Footballhead" handled things, emerging silently from his shed, thrashing a few of them, sending them running. She never failed to thank him for this. "As you wish." was all he ever answered.  
  
One day a nobleman was going by and he noticed Helga. He went back and told the Count about her.  
  
  
  
King Wartz was the kind of Florin. He ruled with his second wife, Queen Slovac. The King, too insane and old to be able to tell day from night and barely hanging on, spent most of his time muttering and playing with his toys.  
  
Prince Brainy actually ran things. He was the most powerful person in Hillwood, and no one in a thousand miles messed with him.  
  
The count was Prince Brainy's only confidant. His name was Sid, but no one needed to use it- he was the only Count in the country, the title having been given to him as a birthday present from the Prince, at one of the Countess' parties.  
  
The Countess was Rhonda. All of her clothes came from Paris (this was after Paris, but before Europe) and she had superb taste. (This was after taste too, but only just. And since it was such a new thing and only Rhonda was the only lady in Hillwood who had it, is it any wonder she was the leading hostess of the land?) Eventually, her passion for fabric and face paint caused her to settle permanently in Paris, where she ran the only salon of international consequence.  
  
For now, she spent most of her time simply sleeping on silk, eating on gold and being the single most feared and admired woman in Hillwood. If she had figure faults, her clothes concealed them; if her face was anything but divine it was hard to tell once she got her make up on.  
  
In sum, Sid and Rhonda were the Couple of the Week in Hillwood, and had been for many years.  
  
  
  
"Quick- Quick! Get over here!" Bob called from the window.  
  
"Why?" Miriam asked. She never got up without a reason.  
  
Bob pointed, "Look!"  
  
"You look." Miriam whined, not getting up from where she sat, "You know how." Helga's parents did not have what you would call a happy marriage. All they ever did was dream of leaving each other.  
  
Bob turned back to the window. "Ahhhhh," he said after a while. Then "Ahhhhh," again.  
  
Miriam briefly glanced up.  
  
"Look at all that stuff." Bob said, "Glorious."  
  
Miriam hesitated, then put her stew spoon down (this was after stew, but so is everything. When the first man first clambered from the slime and made his first home on land, what he had for dinner was stew.) (Miriam always slept with a stew spoon, don't ask why.)  
  
"It's amazing." Bob muttered very loudly.  
  
"What is it dear?" Miriam wanted to know.  
  
"You look; you know how." was all he said.  
  
Miriam muttered something, then came over to the window. A moment later she was going "Ahhhh" with him.  
  
They stood there, the two of them, awed.  
  
Helga sat and watched them from the dining room table. They sounded ridiculous with they're "Ahhhh's" and she was curious as to what they were looking at.  
  
"They must be going to meet Prince Brainy someplace." Helga's mother said.  
  
Bob nodding, "Hunting. That's what the Prince does."  
  
"How lucky we are to have seen them pass by." Miriam said as she took her husband's hand.  
  
Bob nodded, "Now I can die."  
  
Miriam glanced at him, "Don't." she said. Her tone was surprisingly tender, she probably sensed how important he really was to her, because when he died two years later (of a heart attack, they had fried food then) she went right after.  
  
Helga came up and stood behind them, and soon she was gasping and sounding like an idiot as well because the Count and Countess and all their pages and soldiers and servants and courtiers and champions and carriages were passing by.  
  
Helga's father was a greedy man, who had always dreamed of living like the Count. He had once been two miles from where the Count and the Prince had been hunting and until now that had been the highest point in his life. He was a terrible farmer (and a terrible beeper salesman, they had beepers then but they were used as doorstops at the time) and not much of a father or husband either. There really wasn't much he was good at and he never could figure out how he had had two daughters like his own (the first, Olga, was nearly as beautiful as Helga and certainly cleaner, she lived in another town, the wife of a traveling minstrel or something like that) but he knew deep down it must have been some sort of mistake.  
  
Helga's mother was a dull thing, always found sleeping in the kitchen, a smoothie in her hand. (they had smoothies then.) She had always dreamed of once being popular like the Countess. She was a terrible cook and a worse housekeeper. How her daughters had been born to her was beyond her. But she was there when it happened, and that was good enough for her.  
  
Helga stood there, staring out the window, wishing they weren't so far from the farm so she could see if the Countess was really that wonderful.  
  
As if they had heard her thoughts, the procession turned and headed towards them.  
  
"Here?" Bob gasped, "My god WHY?"  
  
"Did you forget to pay your taxes?" Miriam asked. (This was after taxes. But everything is after taxes. Taxes were even here before stew.)  
  
"Even if I DID, they wouldn't need all THAT to collect em!" Bob replied, pointing at the Count and Countess and all their pages and soldiers and courtiers and champions and carriages were coming closer and closer. "What could they be coming here for?" he said.  
  
"Go see!" Miriam said.  
  
"You go!"  
  
"No, you!"  
  
"Why don't you BOTH go?" Helga said impatiently.  
  
So they did. Trembling...  
  
"Cows." Sid said when they reached his golden carraige. "I would like to talk to you about your cows."  
  
"My cows?" Bob said.  
  
"Yes, you see, I'm thinking of starting a little dairy of my own and I heard that your cows were the best in Hillwood, so I came to find out your secret."  
  
"My cows." Bob repeated. His face blank, he hoped he wasn't losing his mind. He had terrible cows, and if anyone else had had milk to sell, he would have gone out of business like that. Sure, ever since the boy had come to help out things had been better, but still... Well, you couldn't argue with the Count. "What would you say my secret is?" he asked Miriam.  
  
"Oh, there are so many." Miriam said.  
  
"You two have no children do you?" the Count asked suddenly.  
  
"We do sir." Helga's mother said.  
  
"Then let me see her." the Count said, "Maybe she'll be able to talk faster than her parents."  
  
"Olga!" Bob called, turning, "Come out here!"  
  
"How did you know we had a daughter?" Miriam wondered.  
  
"A guess. I assumed it was one or the other. Some days I'm luckier than-" he stopped talking.  
  
Helga was running towards them.  
  
"It's HELGA, Bob." Helga shouted as she ran.  
  
"Yes, yes, whatever." her father responded, "The Count wants to talk to you!"  
  
The Count left his carriage and stood before her. He wasn't too tall, black hair, a rather large nose, black eyes, a black cape, black gloves and strange white boots.  
  
"Curtsy, dear." Helga's mother whispered.  
  
Helga did her best, which wasn't much.  
  
And the Count could not stop staring.  
  
Helga was only seventeen. Her hair was uncombed, unclean.  
  
But still he could not rip his eyes away.  
  
"The Count would like to know the secrets behind out cows' greatness, right sir?" Bob said.  
  
The Count nodded, still staring.  
  
"Ask the boy; he tends them." Helga said.  
  
"And is that the boy?" a new voice came from the carriage. They then saw the Countess' face from inside the carriage doorway.  
  
Her lips were painted bright red and her green eyes lined in black. Her dress was so beautiful, Helga had to shield her eyes from the brilliance.  
  
Helga's father glanced back towards the lone figure peering from the corner of the house. "It is."  
  
"Bring him here."  
  
"He is not dressed properly." Miriam said.  
  
"I do not care." the Countess replied, "YOU!" she called out and pointed at the boy. "COME HERE!" she snapped her fingers on HERE.  
  
The boy did what he was told.  
  
From behind Helga, he bowed. He was ashamed of what he was wearing, blue cap, worn boots and torn blue jeans (blue jeans were apparently invented before most people suppose) and his hands were held together as though he were praying.  
  
"Have you a name, boy?"  
  
"Arnold, Countess."  
  
"Well, Arnold. We are all very interested in this subject of cows, and seeing that no one else here has been of any help, do you think you could tell us why the cows of this particular farm are the best in Hillwood? What do you do to them?"  
  
"I just feed them."  
  
"Well then, the mystery is solved! Show me will you, Arnold?"  
  
"Feed the cows for you?"  
  
"You're a smart one."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Now is soon enough." she held out her hand to him, "Lead me Arnold."  
  
He had no choice. Arnold gently took her arm and began to lead her, "It's behind the house, ma'am, it's a horrible mess back there, I wouldn't want to mess up your gown."  
  
"I only wear them once, now show me."  
  
They went off to the cow shed.  
  
Helga found herself alone with the Count, who was still staring at her.  
  
"I'll go with you!" she shouted after Arnold.  
  
"I think I'll go too." the Count decided.  
  
Helga's parents brought up the rear of the cow-feeding trip, watching the Count, who was watching their daughter, who was watching the Countess.  
  
Who was watching Arnold.  
  
  
  
******Augh, im tired. I figure I'll stop here... anyhow, Helga starts getting jealous, doncha know, you'll see in the next part... I'm trying not to make this TOO MUCH like the book, but it sorta will be. ******  
  
******Review if you want, I really don't care.****** 


End file.
